


Pink Balloons

by terrys_chocklit_orange



Category: Actor RPF, Star Wars RPF
Genre: Future Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-24
Updated: 2016-05-24
Packaged: 2018-06-10 11:04:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6953911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/terrys_chocklit_orange/pseuds/terrys_chocklit_orange
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sequel to "Home." At the wedding, Adam reflects on what brought them here.</p><p>As always, this is complete fiction.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pink Balloons

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to everyone who encouraged me to write more (despite my residual RPF guilt.) The title, and the balloons, come from [this post](http://dgleesonsource.tumblr.com/post/144733545563/the-above-quote-was-taken-from-this-interview).

Pink balloons line the way from the castle's main entrance to the courtyard inside. 

Domhnall wants them there. He loves them. In anyone else, that would seem like an annoying affectation, but with him, it's somehow endearing. Also, Adam could never say no to Domhnall. 

That's why their wedding is being held in a castle in the Loire Valley, rather than near their places in Dublin or LA. “If it's in Ireland,” Domhnall explained, when they were deciding on the location, “it'll be _my_ wedding with _my_ family. If it's in California, it'll be yours. So we'll meet halfway.” 

“Halfway between Ireland and California is, like, Baltimore or something,” Adam replied. Domhnall seemed to consider this for a moment before suggesting, “What about France instead?”

So France it is. It's a relatively small wedding. If it was up to Adam, it would have been a City Hall quickie—or whatever the French equivalent is—followed by a nice meal at a restaurant, but Domhnall wants more. Their eighty-five guests look slightly ridiculous in a wedding venue meant for five hundred, but when Adam looks at Domhnall, who hasn't stopped smiling all day, he finds he doesn't care. 

Domhnall's hair is shorter than usual, and he's clean shaven. Adam doesn't usually see him like this unless he's preparing for a role, and even now, it gives Adam a visceral feeling of _no_ , as if Domhnall is about to go away for weeks or months. He looks good, though. His suit makes him look dashing, but the enormous red flower in the buttonhole—ridiculously large, dominating his entire outfit and clashing with his hair—makes him look like himself. 

Adam never expected to fall in love with a co-star. He certainly never expected to fall in love with someone like Domhnall, Mr. Pink Balloons and Big Red Flowers. It was a slow process. Adam can't pinpoint any exact eureka moment, when he knew without a doubt this was the person for him, but he remembers their first kiss. It would be impossible to forget.

They were in London, and nearly finished filming Episode VIII. A group of the cast and crew had gone out for drinks in anticipatory celebration, and Adam had gone along. He regretted it almost immediately. It wasn't his usual scene. The darkness of the club was split by piercing, colourful lasers and a relentless, pounding bass that shook his bones. Adam hated it. He would have said he was too old for it, but those of the group who were his age or older—Oscar, Gwendoline, Domhnall, most of the crew—seemed to be enjoying themselves. So it was just him, then. 

He sat with his drink, watching his co-workers dance and feeling like an indulgent grandfather at thirty-two. As he was calculating how soon he could leave without looking like a buzzkill, Domhnall crashed into the booth beside him. He seemed drunk already, although with Domhnall, it wasn't always easy to tell. 

“You can't sit here all night.” Domhnall threw an arm around Adam. “You're too hot to be alone.”

Adam rolled his eyes. He knows plenty of actors who flirt with everyone, like it's a necessity of life. Domhnall is one. Adam's not. “I'm fine, thanks.” They weren't friends at that point. They'd barely exchanged half a dozen words outside their professional obligations. Adam didn't dislike him, they were just different people. Inhabiting totally different galaxies, it sometimes felt. 

It definitely felt that way when, without warning, Domhnall leaned in and kissed him. It wasn't lascivious, but it was hard, on the mouth. When he pulled away, Domhnall winked and Adam felt like he'd been punched. 

More than ten years on, Domhnall cringes when Adam reminds him of that. “Can I retroactively apologise?” He says. “I'd say it was the folly of youth, but I was well into my thirties by then, wasn't I?” 

“It's all right,” Adam says. He hadn't minded, exactly. He'd expected a proposition, which he would have naturally turned down, but Domhnall didn't say anything. Instead, he was up and off again, back to the dance floor like nothing unusual had happened. 

It was unusual, though. It might have been meaningless to Domhnall, but the silly, ridiculous act stuck with Adam for months, even after shooting wrapped and he was off doing other projects. When they met again, at a convention, Adam found himself watching Domhnall as he effortlessly interacted with the fans and the press, laughing and joking, saying the right thing at the right time while Adam struggled not to sound like an inarticulate idiot every time he opened his mouth. 

More than being confident, Domhnall was sincere. Every time he said, “it's great to meet you,” whenever he looked thoughtful and said, “that's a good question,” he really meant it. For Adam, who grew up in California, the land of flattery and artifice, it was fascinating. Enticing. Even a little alluring.

Still, Adam didn't say anything about it. Even if Domhnall was receptive, Adam had no interest in an affair. He wasn't that type of person. Or so he'd always thought. 

Filming on Episode IX began in Ireland in April. If there was a wetter place on Earth, Adam didn't want to know where it was. They filmed the soundstage scenes quickly. After that, it was a question of sitting in trailers, waiting for breaks in the weather so they could rush out and do as much as they could before the rain moved in again. 

After about a week of this, Domhnall showed up. 

“I loved _Don Quixote_ ,” were the first words out of his mouth. Since this was Domhnall, Adam knew they were actually true. “I thought you were amazing.”

“Thanks.” Adam didn't know what else to say. 

Domhnall held up a script. “I've got another project coming up,” he said. “Want to help me with the lines?” 

He was only asking, Adam thought, because neither of them had anything to do at the moment. Still, Adam said, “Sure,” and held out his hand for the script. 

It was a banal romcom. The lines were uninspired, but Domnhall recited them with true passion, as if they were Shakespeare. As the days passed and the rain came down, running lines became talking, which became friendship, which became Adam going to Domnhnall's flat rather than his hotel when shooting wrapped for the day. It was nearly as close, anyway, and it was much more comfortable. It was there, over a so-called “Americano” pizza with corn kernels and a number of other toppings Adam found deeply disturbing, that Domnhall said, earnestly, “You know, if you wanted to kiss me, I wouldn't complain.” 

Adam did want to, he realised. Very much. 

It was only later, when they lay sated in Domhnall's bed, that Adam remembered he was _fucking married._

And he now he is again. Adam watches fondly as Domhnall laughs and dances with Oscar in the castle courtyard, swaying irregularly to the music. The two of them have been friends for years, and are close enough that Adam still feels an occasional spark of jealousy. _He just married you_ , Adam reminds himself. _He's made his choice pretty clear._ Still, Adam sets down his drink and excuses himself. His stepmother continues talking to Carrie Fisher and her service dog, and Adam walks over to his new husband. 

Oscar grins and steps back, disengaging himself from Domhnall. “He's all yours, man.” Domhnall turns his brilliant smile at Adam. It lights up his face; it lights up the whole courtyard. The string quartet plays, the pink balloons sway in the evening breeze, and Adam thinks, _too damn right_ as he takes Domhnall into his arms.


End file.
